


how many nights did I crash against the waves

by Blake



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Menstruation, Omega Harry, Omega Louis, Omega/Omega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Louis is going into heat and Harry thinks it's hot.





	how many nights did I crash against the waves

**Author's Note:**

> This was a ficlet posted to Tumblr! Getting ready for [1D GayBO fic fest!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/1DGayboficfest)

“I should really, really get going.”

Harry tries not to feel hurt. But he does. He totally does. He attempts to scoot closer to Louis on the couch, but their thighs are already pressed tightly together. “Okay,” he says. It probably sounds like he’s guilt-tripping. He probably is guilt-tripping. He tries not to be that way, but dating other omegas really brings it out in him, this obsessive attention to detail, like every flutter of an eyelash says as much as a novel, like there’s so much subtle _intent_ in every little word. It’s thrilling and hot, but also kind of life-ruining when it comes to the hurt-feelings thing.

“It’s just—” Louis aborts his sentence with a sigh of frustration.

“I thought you were gonna stay over,” Harry blurts. Definitely guilt-tripping. It’s a hideous colour on him, he knows. But—Louis had stayed over the last time he came over, and the time before that. They’ve been dating for over a month now and the sex is really good, and Harry made him lasagne from scratch and… Well it’s not that he expects sex in return for his home-cooked meals; he tries not to let his omega biology drive him _that_ much. It’s just that he can’t imagine why Louis would not want to stay over. Unless it was to hurt Harry’s feelings. 

Or unless this relationship wasn’t going as well as Harry thought it was. “Are you—” He bites his tongue to stop himself from actually being pathetic enough to ask if Louis was breaking up with him. “Did you not like the lasagne?”

“Are you kidding? I ate three quarters of the entire pan.” Louis sounds so frustrated that it almost sounds sad. The sad note snaps Harry out of his self-centred bullshit. His heart immediately squirms in empathy. He really likes Louis, like, _so much_.

“Are you okay?” he asks, turning to face Louis and trying to draw him into his arms.

Louis sags against him perfectly, sucking in breaths from the base of his neck. “I’m fine,” he sighs. “Can I just… just get one last kiss? Before I go?” Louis sniffles and tilts his head so his lips are within kissing distance.

Harry did not make lasagne from scratch just to have this gorgeous guy kiss him once and disappear mysteriously like Cinderella. So he refuses the kiss. “Where are you going? You’re sounding like I won’t see you for a week.”

“Probably just like, four days.” Louis licks his lips and looks sultrily at Harry’s mouth. It’s horribly tempting.

But Harry is stubborn. “Why?” he interrogates.

“Just kiss me,” Louis whines before surging up and stealing his kiss. Harry moans into it despite himself. Maybe he’s not so stubborn when it comes to sweet, firm, needy kisses from hot omega boys who make him laugh and who kiss him in public and who spoon him _perfectly_ in bed and who taste like the sound a waterfall makes.

Louis whimpers into the kiss, pulling free just to gasp against Harry’s mouth. Harry chases it, so turned on by Louis’s responsiveness. He licks his way deep inside, loving the wet thickness of their tongues sliding together.

“Fuck, this isn’t helping,” Louis gasps on a mutual break for breath.

Harry thinks it’s helping quite a lot. He feels _worlds_ better with his lips pushing soft and deep into Louis’s than he did when Louis was trying to leave. “Helping what?” he whispers into the thin, plush pillow of Louis’s lip.

Louis settles both hands into Harry’s curls and holds him torturously close, their lips brushing together as he says, “Helping me not go into heat.”

Harry’s cock surges and he feels a gush of slick drip down to his balls. “What?” he barely manages to say, dumb, blind, and deaf from the extreme hotness of Louis sitting there right in front of him, trying to refrain from going into heat.

“I’m going into heat. I want to get out of your hair before…”

“Holy shit, before what?” Harry asks, his voice cracking because he’s thirsty, he’s _so thirsty_ , he wants to drink Louis up like champagne. He can’t stand another second of Louis holding him so close yet so far like this, so he lets Louis pull on his hair while he surges forward to get his tongue between Louis’s lips again.

“Not helping,” Louis whines again, muffled by Harry’s tongue. Neurons are firing in Harry’s brain, all these things from tonight clicking together: that pronounced tang on Louis’s breath, the fidgeting at the dinner table, the ability to eat half a lasagne. Harry recognizes it all because he’s felt it himself a few times, because they’re _so similar_. God, he hadn’t even thought about helping Louis through a heat, but now that he’s thinking about it, he feels like he’s found his life’s calling.

Louis finally tugs hard enough that Harry’s forced to pull back—not because it hurts, but because it _hurts so good_ that he has to moan and let his eyes roll back as he _imagines_ : Louis’s bitchy, impatient side coming to full fruition, pulling Harry’s hair and holding him still so he sucks him off just how he needs it, scratching Harry’s back as he knots him good and deep with his favourite toy. “Before I get all _gross_ and stink up your whole flat,” Louis finally answers. It takes Harry a second to recall what question he had even asked.

“Oh my god,” Harry moans, thinking about licking Louis out while he’s even messier and more pungent than ever, catching a hint of iron with the trickle of blood, feeling him squirm under his tongue. “Please stay.”

He’s practically in Louis’s lap now, one leg curled underneath him so he can rub his cock down against Louis’s hot thigh. He feels a thrill of victory when Louis makes that surprised, turned-on sound he sometimes makes. Louis will need more than his small dick to get through the week, and Harry can’t _wait_ to fill him up with all of his fingers, all of his toys, see what makes him squirm the most. Or maybe Louis likes it torturous and teasing, and Harry can just lie on his back and let Louis ride his tongue all fucking weekend.

Harry has _so many ideas_.

“Harry, I can’t. Like, I get so slutty. You have no idea.” Harry is burning up because Louis’s talking like he’s actually _insecure_ about this, like he’s not blowing Harry’s mind up with his hotness.

“You can ride my tongue all fucking weekend,” Harry pants, all worked up from rubbing gently along Louis’s thigh. He’s so wet already, and he wonders how wet _Louis_ must be.

Louis lets his head fall back against the top of the couch, baring his neck like he wants it marked. Harry’s mouth waters. “I’m serious, Harry,” Louis says to the ceiling, sounding fairly compromised. “I get so, so, slutty. I’ll probably beg for… well, things you can’t give me,” he murmurs, even as he rubs his thigh up against Harry’s crotch like Harry _can_ give it to him. “I would never… I don’t want to hurt you, I just can’t shut up when I’m _like this_.”

The _like this_ is what does Harry in. It’s this hot, soft admission that it’s _happened_ , he’s _in heat_ , he _didn’t leave in time_. Maybe Harry should feel bad about pushing Louis’s boundaries, but it seems more pressing to make Louis feel absolutely certain that he’s in no danger of pushing _Harry’s_ boundaries.

He latches his teeth onto the pale-gold skin stretched over Louis’s adam’s apple. He could probably come just from tasting Louis’s skin and smelling his restraint and coaxing his want out of him with gentle suction. “You are so fucking sweet,” he mumbles around his mouthful, straining to focus on how to use words. “I would be so turned on, if you begged for my knot. I’ve got like, five in my drawer. You can show me just how you need it.” His voice gets a little breathless by the end, and there’s a wet patch where his cock presses against the front of his jeans, just inches away from the tent in Louis’s sweats. Harry’s fingers itch to touch Louis all over, but he wants to finish talking first. He keeps making fists in the cushions.

“You do?” Louis asks, just as breathless. Harry’s almost got him, he knows it.

“They’ve all been inside of me.” Louis’s hands drop down to clutch both sides of Harry’s arse, squeezing greedily. Harry releases his bite, and Louis lowers his chin to stare hungrily into Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you want them inside you, too?” Harry asks, placing his lips right where Louis can reach them.

They kiss frantically for an eternal second, rubbing and grinding and squeezing and licking deep and wet. “God, I fucking want you to tie me,” Louis whispers, hot and sharp against Harry’s cheek. “I thought for sure that was moving too fast. You drive me _insane_.”

“Definitely not too fast,” Harry assures him, squeezing the back of Louis’s neck with one hand and trying to loosen his own belt with the other. “Let me be good for you.”

“Fuck,” Louis grinds out, dragging his hands up under Harry’s shirt to dig his nails into Harry’s waist. “You’re gonna be so good for me, I know it.” Harry’s entire spine shudders, bottom to top. He bites down on Louis’s lower lip just to keep from floating away. The bite hardly stops Louis from saying, “Give me just what I need.” He pulls his lip free with a smack. “Be my perfect bitch.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Harry moans.

“Harry.” Harry ignores the name, too busy chewing on Louis’s lips and trying to get his thigh high enough between Louis’s legs to feel the slick that’s surely there. “Harry.”

“Louis.”

“I just want to say something. Before. Like, so you don’t think it’s the heat talking. Or. The other things.”

_The other things_ , Harry thinks, hopelessly aroused at the thought of Louis losing his mind with Harry’s tongue up his arse. “Louis,” he agrees, using the only word in his vocabulary.

“I… _really_ like you.”

Harry smiles, and presses it to Louis’s pulse. He can’t wait to hear Louis scream it, mad with heat, stuffed full of fingers. _I really like you_. He hopes he’ll get to hear it for years to come. And for the first time, he’s feeling pretty confident that his hopes might come true.

“I really like you too,” he says, and steals one more chaste kiss before Louis has the chance to drag him into the bedroom.


End file.
